


Of Butts & Beanies

by Antigo



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigo/pseuds/Antigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re not doing this to me. I never fell. And I certainly didn’t fall for you the moment we met. And your cute face (and other) isn’t going to change my mind.</p>
<p>Or Five times Victoria acts like a kid with a silly crush and one time she doesn't</p>
<p>Or An AU where Max’s ass is the eighth wonder of the world</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Butts & Beanies

You stepped through the double doors of the library.

You amicably greet the librarian behind the desk as you pass her by.

Your eyes immediately lock on a seat by an open window, as if it was reserved just for you.

You made yourself comfortable in your seat and pulled out a bunch of crap from your satchel: a spring notebook, a weirdly childish pencil case, and your crappy journal.

You look like you’re at home, like you feel most comfortable in this library.

I've always guessed that a nerd like you would hang out here most of your free time. (I’m right)

The massive photography book perched up in front of me effectively keeps my face hidden when you walked in. You’ve yet to notice my presence as I've donned on the only ugly hoodie I own, in lieu of my usual cashmere sweater.

I've had the foresight of wearing a disguise. Heaven forbid people recognizing me in the library, doing actual _work_. I do have a reputation to uphold. And one of which is being effortlessly marvelous at the things I do without the strain of hard work.

I usually hand tedious research assignments to Courtney, but this case differs than most. The project is assigned by none other than Mr. Jefferson, and I’m taking this as an opportunity to show my talent to the famous photographer. Courtney doesn’t know two shits about photography anyway, so she’ll be bound to ruin this for me.

I push my thick-rimmed glasses (a part of my disguise) up my nose as I continue my research, concentrating hard.

I was barely able to hide behind my book when you passed by me. Thankfully, the hideous beanie successfully keeps my trademark blonde hair hidden.  (It’s the only beanie I own. I swear I don’t even like it)

 A breath of relief

I subtly glanced behind and saw you using the library network, probably searching for material for your own project. I turned back to my book, mindful of getting caught. I was mildly surprised to see that you left _both_ your dull hoodie and your satchel at your desk. Those are the two things I never see you without. I was starting to believe that it was beginning to mold _into_ you through osmosis and becoming a part of your body. But to my disappointment, you’re anatomy still seems to be normal.

I almost gave myself away with a tiny jolt when again, you walked past me. Fortunately, you were looking at the small note between your fingers.

I immediately ducked into my book (too much for subtlety) in short-lived panic.

A few short breaths and five long seconds

I finally glanced up, curious of where you’re headed.

However, through some form of enlightenment from the deities above, like a gift generously vested upon me with open arms, I was met with the full force of your well-rounded gluts, tight against form-fitting jeans.

I can’t believe what has been presented to me so strikingly, as you continue walking-no, _bouncing_ your way to your destination.

This has to be a miracle. If someone had told me that Max Caulfield had an ass that could rival Kim Kardashian, I would’ve laughed at their face after giving them a well-meaning bitch-slap, to wake them up.

But it _is_ a miracle. The universe aligned, I’d begrudgingly sat myself in this library to do some research (which I _never_ do), you came in, stripped yourself of your second skin, and unabashedly (albeit unknowingly) showcased me with two of your most precious assets.

I found myself drooling over your decidedly aesthetically average ass. I scoff –mine is definitely better, your butt isn’t worth my time at all.

I get back to my notes, eager to forget what I witnessed (butt butt butt bu-stop thinking!). However, when I looked down at my paper, something was scribbled at the corner:

_I love your jiggly butt!_

I scoff once again. I most certainly didn’t write this subconsciously while horrendously gaping at you.

I angrily doodled a jumping Jigglypuff beside the note. (Yes, I've played Pokemon before –who hasn’t?)

And then I had a sudden thought of giving said note to you.

It didn’t take me more than three seconds of staring at it before thinking that this whole thing is stupid.

Your butt is stupid.

Even more so than your already stupid, freckled face

And your goofy smile whenever you make your lame puns in class

Your warm hand when you helped me up

Your gentle voice as you apologize for not paying attention

Your amazingly green eyes when you helped me gather my scattered notes

Your awkward (yet adoring) attempt of striking casual conversation with the cliché ice-breaker of being new in school

I grumbled audibly in an effort to blur any more forthcoming thoughts of _you._

Still, floods of brown hair and pink lips flash at the back of my mind.

I tore the page off my notebook and crumpled the note in a curling bout of anger and frustration.

I was about to get up to throw it away when you came to sight, exiting from a near aisle. You were holding the same title I have on my desk.

I quickly sat back down and lifted the large book to my face, the crumpled note in my tight fist.

I sneaked a glance and you were busily distracting yourself with the contents of the book.

I shift my gaze from your nearing form, then to your desk, and finally to the nearby trash bin. The bin is unfortunately farther than your desk, so getting up and risking the chance of blowing my cover is a big no.

Well, I can just keep the note in my pocket and throw it out later.

I looked back at you just in time to see you trip at your own feet. You staggered forward slightly before regaining your balance –preventing a face plant on the hard marble floor. 

You turned your head left and right to see if anyone witnessed your outstanding performance, grinning when you saw no one. You celebrated your save with a fist pump, and I can’t help thinking that you’re adorable.

No, I did not think that.

I definitely did not.

You’re still stupid.

I sneered at your antics and finally decided:

I’m going to mess with you.

I looked at the crumpled note and back at your slow paced walk to your desk, still engrossed in your book (you never learn, do you).

_It’s now or never._

I checked to see if anyone else is in the vicinity. And, of course there was. They all just had their own shits to do to care what I’m up to.

I took a breath –like an athlete would when they’d take a shot, and threw the crumpled ball to your table.

I held on to my seat as I watched the ball of paper loop, barely missing the edge of your table. It rolled forward, until finally moving right next to your journal to a stop.

I made my own fist pump at my small success (your stupidity is so contagious).

I hastily pulled my book back up when you glanced up from yours. I saw you made your way to your seat at the corner of my eye, and heard a small thud as you placed your heavy book down.

I sneaked up to peek, book still hiding most of my face.

 

You’ve still yet to notice the piece of crumpled paper by your side, occupying yourself with your newly acquired research material.

 

I groaned internally, rolling my eyes. You’re like the blindest not blind person I know.

 

You flipped a few pages of the book, until finally you reached for your journal.

 

Your hand brushed past the paper and I had to keep myself from banging my head on the table as you missed it again.

 

When you lifted your journal, you finally took notice of it.

 

You stared at it, confused as to its origin.

 

You picked it up with two fingers as if it was some sort of chemically corrosive substance.

 

_Open it, you idiot! Read it!_

Instead of opening it like a normal, curious person would, you looked up to the ceiling. I had to catch myself from falling over at your stupidity once more. You still weren’t satisfied as you also checked if the paper came from the open window. I slapped my forehead as I was almost an inch away from striding over to rage at you.

 

You’re a real idiot. A real freaking piece of nugget

 

You double checked if the paper _did_ in fact come from the sky.

 

You raised a brow and I anticipated your next move.

You shook your head and said something inaudible under your breath.

 

Then, for all of the suffering I had to go through from your slow, dumb progress, you threw the paper away in the bin by your desk.

 

The book under my grip suffered nail marks as I cringed to stop myself from tearing out my hair.

 

This is the most anticlimactic experience I've ever had in my entire life. I’m not even surprised that you’re the cause of my endless frustrations.

 

I’m done. I’m out of here.

 

I grit my teeth at my irrational anger. I _know_ it seemed like trash, and it was logical to throw it away. But even so, I’m still so irrefutably _angry._

 

I've never understood why my irritation increased tenfold when I met you. I’ve always seen myself as a mellower person before we clashed in the school hall (maybe not mellow, but a little less of an asshole).

 

I silently raged over you stupidity as I began shoving my things in my tote bag (which totally is not hipster).

 

I stomped my way out the doors and fortunately (frustratingly) you never spared me a glance, too busy in your own world.

 


End file.
